


My Demons, My Reasons

by OneStoryOneWorld



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: ADHD does NOT equal laziness, Agatha gets a haircut, Black Lives Matter, Depression is a bitch, Hester...is still scary, Hort gets a glow up, Hort is Agatha's best friend, Nicola dont do BS, Read All About It- Emily Sande, Sader needs a medal, Sophie needs to chill, Sorta I guess, Tedros needs a tutor, agatha is a braniac but we all knew that, anxiety too, cinderella story?, not really - Freeform, sorta - Freeform, tedros is rich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27109705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneStoryOneWorld/pseuds/OneStoryOneWorld
Summary: "Do those people even exist?" I demand.He smiles at me confusedly, "What?""People who wake up and just get stuff done, no heaviness, no voice no ... darkness.""Everyone has darkness.""Sure...but like, they still get shit done.""Ag-"I roll my shoulders back, hearing the satisfying crack "Unicorns- I think they're unicorns."
Relationships: Agatha/Tedros (The School for Good and Evil), Anadil/Hester (The School for Good and Evil), Beatrix/Reena (The School for Good and Evil), Hort/Ravan (The School for Good and Evil)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 18





	1. Warning: Not a Farytale

**Author's Note:**

> This is different from many of my other stories. I had to do a lot of research so that I don't completely mis-represent the mental illnesses people have to deal with.
> 
> If you have any facts about depression, ADHD, anxiety, and autism-(and PTSD) that you think I ought to know- please feel free to share or PM me. (Don't worry i'm not going to give Agatha ALL of that.)
> 
> No, don't worry Teddy isn't going to 'love her depression away'- that's not how it works and i'm well aware.
> 
> No, don't worry Agatha in't going to 'discipline the ADHD out of him'- I know that's not how it works.
> 
> Yes, I am covering more than just mental illnesses and self love.
> 
> \- Nicola campaigning with Black Lives Matter
> 
> \- Mr. Sader being a peach
> 
> \- Stefan is dead
> 
> \- Agatha's biological mom is dead
> 
> \- She's under custody with Vanessa and her step sister, who is a year younger.
> 
> \- She is all dealing with insomnia (fee free to spit out facts about that, if you have something I should know before writing)
> 
> \- Callis owns a 24/7 hour cafe- which hardly anyone ever goes to because it isn't as popular as all the ther places amd they are scared of Callis
> 
> \- Reaper doesn't live with Agatha
> 
> \- Agatha also experiences some light bullying
> 
> \- Dovey is the school guidance counselor
> 
> I'm trying to keep the chapters 2K- 3K
> 
> This is just an Intro.

Cinderella Story- funny term- typically it means that the girl or guy meets a rich hottie and they fall in love and have a bunch of ridiculously good- looking babies. Plenty of people have given her story and reputation grief calling her a gold digger and weak. A story about a beautiful girl waiting to be saved by a prince charming. But that's not how her story goes, is it?

The story isn't damsel in distress gets swept off her feet by handsome prince.

I mean sure- that's the _ending_.

But that's not the _**story**_.

The story is about a romantic who was deprived of love.

A girl who seeks approval until settling for the company of animals.

A girl who never gave up hope- who remained kind, positive and gentle.

Who despite all the pain thrown her way didn't give up her smile. Didn't even _consider_ putting an end t her misery- because she had **hope** , hope that things would get better.

I'm _**not**_ Cinderella.

I'm angry and bitter and sad and- and-

I don't want to hold onto hope anymore, I want to give in- i'm really tired.

But also...

**_I want to find a reason to stay. A purpose._ **

Surely everyone has one. I must be alive for _something_.

Oh, and remember Cinderella's deadline? It's midnight- mine is the last day of senior year. I have less than a year to find a reason to live, and if I don't find it well... I guess I don't have one.

I'm Agatha, by the way, and this is _**my**_ story.


	2. Con: No one will miss me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is different from many of my other stories. I had to do a lot of research so that I don't completely mis-represent the mental illnesses people have to deal with.
> 
> If you have any facts about depression, ADHD, anxiety, and autism-(and PTSD) that you think I ought to know- please feel free to share or PM me. (Don't worry i'm not going to give Agatha ALL of that.)
> 
> i always forget the disclaimer; bad Paula!
> 
> Nothing besides the plot is mine.
> 
> (Rated T bc i'm paranoid and I want to be able to freely swear 7 discuss what needs to discussed w/o worrying about the rating standards)

**...**

The first thing I noticed maybe even before I woke up was how stiff my cheeks felt when I tried to yawn. Then the unusual brush of cotton sheets against my skin, I always wore sweaters and long pants, even to bed. I knew I think- but I didn't actually _know_ until I felt the burn of a reopened cut. Snapping into focus when I tried to roll out of bed, the flare of hot pain on my forearms, the crunch of blood-stiffened gauze.

Right.

I did that.

Despite this, no because of this- I've had a good night of sleep. I checked the brick that called itself a phone for the time.

6:13 AM.

When I sleep in my room I usually sleep 5 minutes until before the bus pulls up, at 6:55. At least that's how it was Freshman and Sophomore year, Hort insists that as soon as he's legally allowed he'll drive me to school so that I can sleep in. But the truth of the matter was that the only nights in where I can sleep, all throughout the night- without disruption, are on rare nights in where I'm too physically drained to do what I usually do or like last night when there was true silence.

The bruises under my eyes didn't hurt nearly as much as last night. But maybe that's because in comparison to my recent injury it's as important as a housefly. I rub my eyes and try to ignore the twinging pain under my eyes.

Should I shower?

_Yes._

But it was morning and I was cold and Sophie was probably going to shower any second now.

_ Slob- lazy as trash. Making excuses? Disappointing. _

Soon enough I hear Sophie's warbled singing and any notions of showering were instantly crushed. I stay quiet, rustling through my cabinet for the baby wipes. I could at least wipe my face and forearm. I stay there, in that sitting position in those clothes. Shivering until my alarm goes off, 40 or so minutes later, then I shrug on my sweater over my head, fixing the bandages once more. They were itchy and a little sore. A slight pulsing burn where the blade sliced my skin- skin that was relatively soft from the lack of abuse,- I haven't cut in months.

Then I go outside, where the morning chill was still present, and sit on the bench at the curb. My earbuds blasting loud music I didn't care to hear.

**...**

"Agatha! Hold up!" I stop abruptly to let Ms. Dovey catch up.

She was probably one of the few people in this school who knew my name and bothered to remember it- but then again, she _was_ the school guidance counselor. She was supposed to know our names. I probably wouldn't have heard her if it wasn't for the fact that my phone was incredibly slow and was still adjusting to the school's WIFI. She was by my side within seconds, not looking the least out of breath. She was every bit as fairy-godmother(ish) as last year. With her shiny silver-white hair and sharp blue eyes. She was wearing her typical ensemble some expensive-looking pastel dress and a coat that almost resembled a cape. A pin over her heart.

It seemed to me that she always had a new pin on her chest.

The one she wore today was a blue dove with tiny jewels, diamonds maybe, as eyes. The whole bird could be hidden in her fist and was considerably plainer than the ones she wore last year but I like that one best. 

"Hi sweetie," Ms. Dovey beams, "How have you been?"

As if speaking for me the throb in my forearm gets more intense.

"Just peachy."

She smiled, like I told a funny joke, and nodded "Very well, how was your summer?"

"Uneventful," I toe at the floor trying to get rid of the streak of dirt- it was only spreading "but I liked it. How about you? How was your summer?"

Glowing, she describes the academy's she visited- ending with the football training camp. Apparently, there were a few students that were cutting it close junior year and need t to be on top of their studies this year. This is when she pushed her rectangular glasses up her dainty nose and said, "Actually, this is where you come in, I know this is last minute and I hate putting you on the spot like this but...do you think you can do me a favor?"

Favors.

It seemed that I'm the person people came to when they need a favor. Maybe it's because I never say 'no'.

"Sure, Ms. Dovey."

Maybe I'll test out that theory some other-

"Can you _please_ tutor for me?"

Wrinkling my brow, "You need me to tutor you?"

_Smart conclusion, genius._

"Oh heavens no," How was she still so bright? Was that positivity even humanly possible? "A student of mine, he'll have to drop sports if he doesn't improve his grade."

An athlete, ey?

A jock with a lousy grade, ey?

How typical.

Why couldn't it be a theatre geek or a musician- then I might actually gain something from the experience. No... that was wrong of me- not all jocks are hormonal jerks. Just the real popular ones that represent the team. I'm sure this jock will be polite and decent, and won't stink of cologne over sweat-

"His name is Tedros Pentra-"

_"No. Not him."_

Turns out I can say 'no' after all.

It shocked me though, how swiftly and easily I formed those words. It was easy to swallow, it was the digesting that burned. The bubbling uncomfortable burn in my stomach. I searched Dovey's face, it was shocking but then it slowly shifts to confusion and then anger.

She was angry at me.

I've never turned her down before and she has done a lot for me. Given me late passes, encouraging notes, sweet-talking Lady Lesso into letting me off with a warning...and so when she cashes in a favor, I just shoot her down.

No wonder she was mad.

"Has...has he ever given you any trouble?"

Her blue eyes were cold with a fury that scared me to the bone yet I couldn't help but feel it wasn't directed at me?

_ It is. Obviously. How can it not be?  _

"N-no, I just don't want to work with him."

_No valid reason to refuse, tsk tsk. Waste of space._

Except, I-I _did_ have a valid reason. Tedros, while I've never formally met him was a marker of when my life started to go downhill, of when heaven became hell and happiness misery. He was the representation of when everything that was going right went wrong. I've never met him- but I still knew him. Knew all about him. Whether I like it or not I found out every nitty-gritty detail about Tedros Pentragon. I didn't believe in love at first sight but if I did- I'd be a living example of _hate_ at first sight.

Not true, actually.

I hated him before I laid eyes on him and I hated him still.

Bigger than Life. No worries. Hakuna Matata, my life is perfect. Arrogant. Selfish. Vain. Pompous. Spoiled. And ever-so-sweet Tedros Aurthur Pentragon.

I probably wouldn't even care about him at all. Wouldn't hate him as much as I did if it wasn't for one key detail- he- he-

"Are you sure he's never...made you feel...unsafe?"

I meet her eyes, was it possible that she wasn't angry _at_ me but _for_ me?

 _No. You have been nothing but a_ nuisance.

"I've never met him before."

Understanding lights up her features, her stormy expression clearing "Ah, Is it because of the rumors? You know they aren't very accurate. Not in the least actually-"

A fire doesn't start without a spark.

So many rumors circulated Tedros yet no one seemed the least bit daunted, the ones around him gushed and laughed at his stupid jokes. Flocking him to his every class. And the ones that weren't deemed beautiful or important enough to be near him resented him for that fact and spread the rumors. 

Except for me, of course.

I resented him for very different reasons.

Ms. Dovery must've sensed she lost my interest since she says rather abruptly, "It's paid, $25 an hour if you do good they'll up your pay." She flutters her hands, looking flustered for some reason, and then her eyes latch on something behind me and she says, "Oh-Oh Hi Tedros! How are you?"

I felt the heat of his body first, awfully close to mine to avoid being trampled by the crowds- not that they would dare trample their beloved Golden Boy. Heavens; no, they'd rather paint the floor gold with their tongue before even daring to look at his Grace.

Sidestepping away from him and besides Ms. Dovey, it was in that moment I've made the decision to stay. To stay in the conversation.

One look at him, in personal proximity (glimpses of his profile from the side didn't count) and I, could see the rumors were right about one thing, at least. He _was_ very good-looking. Bronzed skin, bright blond hair, striking blue eyes. But- not nearly as tall as the rumors claimed. We were nearly eye-level. But that might've been my boots.

He grins at us both, looking every bit as polite. But I couldn't help but notice the slight bob of his knee as he stood before us. Was he already through with us? Already eager to meet up with his friends? Hook up with one of his dates? His smile wasn't very handsome, I noticed, it was just perfect. You know, smooth, straight...the kind of siles you see on Toothpaste commercials. It was a _pleasant_ smile.

The aesthetic of a good boy.

Symmetrical and slightly dimpled. He salutes Ms. Dovey and exchanges pleasantries. My eyes catch on the blue of his backpack, it was navy blue but still very blue.

It looked expensive, sturdy, and new. It looked like you can stuff it with glass and rocks and it wouldn't be battered in the least. It wasn't filled all that much though, looked limp on his back. Very much unlike my backpack straining and filled with projects, books, and notes all of which I was planning on showing to a specific teacher later on in my day. I've been using _my_ backpack, the same backpack, ever since I started high school. Only because Hort bought it for me, insisting we had to match (even though at the time we didn't go to the same schools and it was just as lame then as itis now- matching I mean. He just...seemed so excited, so I kept my sour thoughts to myself). We even had the same stupid keychain on it. Some Pikachu (Pokemon?) that he was obsessed with, it was a very bright yellow. I vowed to myself that I'd take it off as soon as I took a picture of it attached to my backpack and sent it to him.

He sent me a similar picture back.

I was weak.

I didn't take it off the black beaten backpack.

"Hi," I snap back into focus, Tedros was smiling at me now, his leg bobbing up and down a bit slower than before "I'm Tedros." His hand was outstretched to me, fingers reaching for mine.

I don't take it, opting for a head nod and my best rendition of a smile.

His smile wavers but is rebooted within moments, he takes his hand back using it to scratch the back of his neck. He was looking up at the ceiling, clearly awkward.

Turning to Ms. Dovey I say quietly, "I'm sorry but it's still a 'no'. I'll be more than willing if there's anything else."

 _Anyone_ else.

_You are such a jerk._

Dovey smiles at me, no look of begrudgement on her features "Well if you're sure- just come to me if you change your mind?"

I should just nod and leave but for some reason, I linger. I feel some obligation to fix this- to fix Dovey's frazzled nerves. I could tell that she wasn't expecting me to decline the offer, she was counting on me saying yes.

It was supposed to go like this;

_"Can you tutor this jock please?"_

" _Sure_."

" _Oh look, here he is!_

Yes, Tedros coming was supposed to be the first introduction. But I went and messed up all her plans by not agreeing.

"Can't anyone else do it?"

My eyes dart to Tedros, who was on his phone. Figures he'd care more about the comments on his latest post than his academic future.

She shakes her head, looking at me with a strange mix of pride and exhaustion, "Sure there are- I just thought you'd be the most qualified."

That...made no sense!

Plenty of students were more intelligent than me. 

"I'm sure you'll find someone."

I was about to try and bring up my escape when Tedros speaks up, interrupting me before I can say 'See you later!'. He shoots me what is supposed to be an apologetic smile- which is stupid. Does he think his smile is some sort of reward for interrupting me? Or is he just saying 'tee hee sorry'? 

Like 'sorry I interrupted you but here, have my smile?

"Sorry to interrupt but you mentioned that I was going to meet my new tutor?"

 _New_ tutor?

And..had he really not figured out that I was the said tutor. Well, I would've been if I had agreed.

Kids passed us, calling out to Dovey and Tedros- none sparing me a second glance. Dovey just smiles in their direction to acknowledge them, Tedros just taps his phone and shoots them a smile. I haven't noticed but that has been happening ever since Dovey asked me over to talk for a second. And...they weren't ignoring me. They were looking at me all confused and some even granted me a head nod but they weren't treating me like air's equivalent- no you need air to breathe. Maybe like the cockroach everyone avoids looking at, fearing the moment they'll strike. I'm not sure how I felt about that.

_They probably aren't used to seeing a road accident so early in the morning._

"She decided she wasn't interested, she's such a busy girl."

Tedros nods easily, like it was no problem, putting Dovey back at ease.

Because it wasn't a big deal, not really.

To him, tutors were a dime a dozen.

He probably went through them like post-it's, as soon as one was used to the max it was trashed.

His gaze lands on me and his smile slips. His eyes flicker between me and Dovey.

Now he gets it.

No wonder this boy needs a tutor- he was so out of it- actually I really had no right to judge.

I begin to back away. Already bumping into people and inching into the walking flow. Ooh, look! The main office! I should head in that direction-

His easy smile turns into an expression I didn't think his face was capable of making, pleading.

"Is it the pay?" Tedros asks desperately- that was quick. How does someone go from chill and relaxed smiles to wide pleading eyes? "I can up it! How much $10 more an hour $15?"

I shake my head, looking behind me to make sure I don't crash into anyone as I back away, "Not interested."

Popping my earbuds into my ears I shrug awkwardly.

The shrug shifts my, already on the verge of slipping, bag off my shoulders and to my elbows, hanging on my forearms. Biting back my gasp of pain, I try to hide it with a laugh. I resembled a choked chicken, but who's to say that wasn't how I actually laughed like? It probably was. I don't remember. 

It's not like he has anything to refer it to. I never laugh in my nemesis' presence. At least not out of joy.

I resist the urge to check my bandages. That was stupid- I could wait. Not wasting time I fix my backpack back on my shoulders, then the feelings I've been repressing come back in a tidal wave.

Guilt, anger, regret, bitterness, remorse.

Hort can't know.

_How pathetic, scared you tricked your best friend into liking you?_

_No one_ can.

Tedros was scowling at me, obviously upset that I denied his very expensive offer. I didn't dare look at Dovey, what if she noticed? And if I did look at her, she would probably read the truth in my eyes. I'm so dammed transparent (and I think she is upset too- if not mad). I relish the fact that Tedros didn't have the option to stare down at me.

Heh, Shorty.

_Or maybe you're just an abnormally tall freak?_

"Bye," I say.

"Have a good day, sweetie!"

I nod one final goodbye and continue down the hall, with no destination in mind.

I was supposed to...

Find Hort!

 _Shit_.

Wasn't I supposed to wait for him in front of the school?

I whip out my phone and check my messages- sure enough there were 2 missed calls and 15 unread, now read, text messages. The first one read.

_Hey, i'm here a bit early. Where r u?_

_Heloooooo? HURRY UP, YOU TWAT!_

I skip to the most recently sent

_Not cool- i'm going in. Going to look for your locker- meet you there._

I type my reply as quickly as possible

_NO! Go to the front of the school! You'll get lost_

His reply was immediate.

_2 l8- meet me at ur locker._

That weasel! I mean, I know I left him hanging but he knows how much it freaks me out when he's just roaming loose. He has like zero sense of direction. None, whatsoever. He'll probably end up in the freshman hall-

Another senior in a varsity jacket bumps into me, he shoots me a quick apology and continues down the hall. Chaddwick, I think.

He was Tedros' best friend?

Tedros- I did feel bad. Technically the only thing he did wrong was exist, and that was his parents' fault. But I've spent so many nights cursing him out, throwing darts at my board, a lousy drawing of him as my target, and being salty with Hort, in general, to just move past my hatred.

Do I feel bad for denying him a tutor when he so obviously needed one?

Yes.

Do I regret my choice?

No.

The money would have been great though I don't know what I would have bought but I'm sure it'd be good. Besides even if I did bring money in-it's not like I'd get to keep the grunt of it. No, I need to 'carry my weight'. Whatever. Who cares about college when your mother wants to stay forever young?

Tedros _did_ look desperate but he could puppy-dog eye someone else, I prefer cats anyway. Plus he'd bring too much drama into my life- because that's what boys like him do. Mess everything up.

There's also the small fact that I _hate_ him.

He already screwed up my life- and he wasn't even _trying_. He just _existed_.

What if he actually gets involved in my life willfully. Even if I'm just a tutor.

Yeah, geez- I think I'm good.

Maybe I can ask around- what am I doing?

_Tedros Arthur Pentragon is not my responsibility._

But still...maybe I can mention his need for a tutor and the price per hour to Hester. She likes money- at least I assume since she is the school treasurer. Turning up the volume of my music, I straighten my spine. I need to stop slouching, it's a terrible habit and I'll end up all deformed and in pain for the rest of my life, at least according to Callis.

The view was different at my full height, I saw a lot of top of heads and people from all the way across the hall. I also made eye- contact with like 3 people in 5 seconds. I avert my eyes and inadvertently slump inwards again.

"Being tall isn't a bad thing."

I stiffen back into full height.

"Ah, see," he says, smiling down at me. He was a little taller when he was closer, 6'2 to my 5'10 maybe. That was actually a decent height, I guess standing next to Hort has helped me forget how tall I am. Hort is one long bean. "If you want to get rid of some height I suggest getting rid of those boots of yours."

Oh right, My clumps add a good inch or so.

I raise the volume of my music, no longer feeling the need to be nice. I'd be nice if I was forced into his presence but if he's seeking me out? I don't need to be nice anymore.

The song just got so much more alluring.

"You're going to damage your eardrums," he told me, walking alongside me like it's nothing.

But it wasn't. I already felt the curious stares.

Their judgment.

Their thoughts entangling with my own.

_Charity case._

_What is that freak doing with our Teddy?_

_Omg, isn't she Sophie's sister?_

_What a loser-_

"What do you care?"

Speaking over my music- yep, that was loud. Not even mean...just loud.

I feel more looks and my mind has no trouble interpreting them for me,

_What is she yelling for?_

_Wow. He does a good deed and gets kicked right in the-_

Perfect. Freaking fantastic.

Loser snaps at School's Golden Boy.

What. ever.

"I'm just a concerned civilian"

Tedros tugs at my earbuds and they fall out of their home- in my ears. The purple buds were held captive in his loose fist. I needed to get rid of him.

And then like heaven opened up its curtain and decided to make my day so much better I see it.

A backpack, similar to my own- identical to my own. With a stupid pokemon attached.

Hort- I take back every nasty thing I've ever said to and about you. You are my savior!

I beeline towards it and sure enough, Tedros follows.

Tedros unwanted chatter, the fact that he can match me stride for stride, the burning looks of curiosity kept me occupied. Add that to the fact that I completely forgot there was a human attached to the backpack and had eyes only for the battered Pikachu attached to it. So at first, I didn't notice that Hort was surrounded by a gaggle of giggling bimbos, I didn't notice that the neck I put my ice-cold hands-on wasn't scrawny- well I _did_ notice but only when my hands, long fingers and all, didn't wrap completely along his no longer puny neck.

Hort...doesn't look like Hort.

Where there used to be curved thin shoulders are now muscles with impeccable posture. His greasy shoulder-length hair is replaced with a modern crew cut with the longer top part hovering over one of his eyes, at least from what I could notice from the back. His used-to-be pitiful stature was now taller than me _and_ Tedros and much more muscular (than before, not Tedros). My hands slip from my playful hold of his neck- how have I not realized that I had to reach up over _muscle_ to reach it?- and Hort has turned to me with the widest smuggest grin in history. A pretty girl, volleyball- maybe, was frowning at me. Giving me a once over, she scoffed and marched away. _I'm sorry... **what?!**_

God- Puberty is such a selective vindictive **_bitch_**! But what have I ever done to puberty? Besides, give it a bad name?!

Hort was grinning excitedly at me- not noticing that the person whom he hated more than I did was a few feet behind me. He was babbling at rapid-fire speed, talking about camp and video-calls and sunrise and I try to focus on his words but all I can process was;

Hort is handsome- he can have _anyone_. He was always cool but now that he was handsome more people will see his worth- he had more options now.

Is he going to ditch me now that he's handsome?

He is still talking- he hasn't noticed that I'm not listening. His grin is so _big-_ it's nice to see him so happy and confident. But was he really this proud because he was fit now?. He shrugs off his backpack and flexes his bicep. In the background, I hear swooning.

_What?_

Then he lifts his clean black tee-not the nerdy stained one- and shows me his four-pack.

I stare at it.

Was he going to ditch me and join a sport? Climb the social ladder?

_He was._

Of course, he was.

Who wouldn't?

I mean- I wouldn't, but that's probably because I have anxiety and it hinders my human instinct to hurt and destroy friendships/lifelong bonds.

Was I just his buddy for the waiting room- was he... always planning to ditch my dead weight? Because I was holding him back?

Is this it?

_We already figured out that yes, this is it._

All of those stupid sleepovers, confessions, being **saltmates*** , everything.

Was his calling me when his dad died...for nothing?

3 years of friendship...for nothing?

_No._

Just because it didn't last- it doesn't mean it's any less important.

_I don't want to be alone._

"A bunch of girls gave me their numbers, the jerk ones, but I told them to go screw themselves because-"

He was good to me. A good friend. A good _best_ friend.

But then again; if he were such a good friend wouldn't that mean he'd chose me over popularity? No- human instinct.

And...and...

I guess I didn't mean as much to him as he did to me.

It was bitter and hollowing to think that when I was excited or happy or ecstatic to hang out with him...he was only content. Fine.

"like who do they think they are? They even had the audacity to ask me if I was a _foreign exchange student_. I said 'if by new you mean been living in this smol town since Kindergarten then yes'. Agatha, you should have _seen_ their faces-"

I stare at his clean shirt, still. Now fully covering his abdomen.

"Hey!" Hort snaps his finger in front of my face, his gaze focused on something over my shoulder "Oi you! Scram!"

"Agatha-" Tedros says as if expecting me to contradict Hort's demands.

I have completely forgotten that Tedros was following me.

"Leave," It comes out raspy and croaked- maybe, that's why he leaves so hastily.

I was still staring at Hort's fully clothed stomach.

"My eyes are up here," I hear him hiss, sounding scandalized "Oh god, you're not going to fall in love with me, are you? Listen- Agatha- Woods! You're pretty and all but I only see you as a sister. Agatha!"

Horts' face looked pinched with stress.

I force a smile. It was heavy.

Hort's face, previously chiseled now lined with more stress.

"See you around, I guess."

There- my goodbye. See, you didn't have to leave me stranded, Hort. I could do it on my own.

"Wait!?" Hort hollers after me, I keep walking- popping my earbuds back into my ears. Trying to ignore the burn in my ulcer, the sound of muffled movement, and a frantic locker slam. Hort walks by me, panting a bit. "Listen, I'm flattered-"

He thinks I have a crush on him.

_That'd be really inconvenient, wouldn't it? Having to shake off a girl who has a crush on you and not just a best friend_

I should probably correct him.

_Why? He'll leave anyway?_

"It's a cliche, anyway. _Way_ overdone. Besides you- you can't date your brother, that's nasty. I see you as a sister, a best friend,"

"I need to go," I say, feeling stupid pangs of hurt. Each pang leaving me more hollow. It felt hard to breathe, to speak, to do _anything_.

My legs won't move. Why can't I-?

"C'mon Woods- ice cream, my treat. We'll work past this." He looks the same when he is like this, the same as the boy I met in 5th grade.

He should be giving me the brush off by now.

Oh! He was probably waiting to make sure he didn't need me. Did he remember my post-it of the week? Nah, he's never seen it before. Maybe I jinxed myself with the post-it?

Last week was, "Wish not so much to live long as to live well- Benjamin Franklin". This weeks was something sarcastic Callis had said, it read "Before you leave me make sure you don't need me."

Such a harmless chore- changing the quote every week. Such a menial task- but it brought me satisfaction. To look through famous quotes- or random authors of books i'm reading or directors of films i'm watching and look for their famous sayings. Then copy it onto a post-it and stick it to my locker (or like I did during the summer, the surface of my bathroom mirror).

I need to get out of here.

With a new mission in mind, I turn on my heel and walk in the opposite direction. It was in this hallway but further down. Hort followed me, still babbling, and finally, I turn to look at him- mouth open.

I was going to ask him what he thought he was doing? Why was he still hanging around when he already has new friends. But- Hort wasn't following me anymore. Hort was stopped dead in his tracks with his _new popular_ best friend, Ravan. Captain of the Track and Field Team. Our eyes lock, and Hort gives me a wide grin. He points at his phone and holds up 8 fingers.

Call you later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I solemnly swear i'll make this as accurate as possible.
> 
> Bye and stay safe!
> 
> *saltmates means people who bond over being salty about the same things- in this scenario it's Tedros


	3. Pro: Callis would- Mr. Sader too (?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is it you want?" 
> 
> Ignoring me she continues, "Dot is always blabbing or bitching- I swear. Straighten your spine." I do and she continues "It takes a good beating for her to shut up for 5 fucking minutes." 
> 
> The Coven. 
> 
> Like Mean Girls but more exclusive, much bitchier, and... much cooler. 
> 
> Pertained of Anadil, Dot, and of course Hester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, it took a while- I like writing the first draft into my science notebook (probably why science seems a lot harder than it should... anywho- it's out! I already started with the next chapter so...yea

Maybe he didn't know. Didn't know the nature of humanity- how, he might try to keep me in his life but eventually he can't have it all. He'll have to choose and like the ones before him- he'll choose safety, popularity, _them_. 

When will I learn? 

Humans are selfish creatures with a lust for safety, safety can be found in power. And power- power is a hard-earned thing. You need to sacrifice a lot. Over and over again- since Power is hardly ever earned fairly. It is stolen. And once you steal something truly you sacrifice your whole life, your whole mind- your whole obsession is to keep it. You give things up- things that don't matter as much as you thought... things that never mattered. Over and over again. I was the sacrifice- once willing, now cursed. 

I thought, for some time- when I befriended Hort. That maybe Vanessa and Sophie are at fault- it was their obsession that did this. That made them distance themself- that hurt me. I was the victim. I wasn't at fault. 

**_Poor little girl- still waiting for her happily ever after?_ **

I was. I was that girl. But then I met Hort and some hope was reinstated in me. 

I don't know what it is about me that makes people end up leaving me, lying to me, forgetting me. 

But still, I kept loving people- people who only saw me as another stair in the grand staircase to popularity. Another stair they wouldn't spare a second look at once it was used. Never once have I been the destination. 

I must hate myself too- or else why would I let them use me like that. 

Because... _I’m so pathetic that I know how little I'm worth._

Vanessa, Sophie, now Hort. 

I could hardly hold that against them. 

I'm a hard person to love. I've always known that. I'm selfish and cowardly. I'm ugly and don't have any redeeming qualities. I space out too much. I get triggered by weird things. I lie too often. I'm not smiley and I don't make anyone else smile. Not without trying. (But I tried.) I'm a hypocrite. How could I be mad at Hort for being selfish and weak to his human instinct when I'm selfish and weak too? 

When I know that what Vanessa is doing to Sophie isn't good- isn't normal. Isn't nice. Yet, I'm a coward. And I don't speak up for Sophie. I don't pay attention when I should, I freak out when someone slams a door too hard or snaps their fingers too close to my face. I make stupid jokes that no one ever gets or laughs at because half of the joke was going on inside my head. 

I take advantage of Ms. Dovey's kindness of Mr.- 

I slide down a locker. It was in _his_ hallway. Abandoned. Only ever buzzing with activity after school- if then. Somehow my feet took me there. But now that my mind found out what my traitorous limbs did, 

I was frozen to the floor. Face wet. Body shaking. 

**_What a sight you are-_ **

_Shut up_

**_So pathetic and on your first day of school too-_ **

_"Ow,"_ I whisper under my breath. My eyes drift to my bandaged arm. Now bleeding once again- not heavily. I peeked into the bandages. Just beads of blood circulating the circumference of my arm like a bracelet. I cover back my cuts. 

I haven't seen Hort all summer. No video calls. No social media. Just IM'ing. Now I know why. He was slowly distancing himself. That was nice of him- to try and make it seem natural. I'd prefer it if he ripped the band-aid off. 

He went to Ravensbrook Training Academy. 

I thought it was a school for technology or music. 

My breathing was getting more frantic- the heaviness in my chest was making it hard to breathe. I had to breathe- I tried to grasp some more air but I couldn’t. 

(Don't freak out.) 

I can't breathe. 

But I had to. 

(I'm sorry I'm not pretty. 

I'm sorry I'm distant. 

I'm sorry I'm to blame. 

I'm sorry I'm so worthless. 

I'm sorry that I can't even take care of myself. 

_I'm sorry I was born._

I'm so so sorry. Okay? Just leave me alone.) 

_I hate having these episodes._

I can't control them. I can't monitor my thoughts correctly- I can't do lots of things. I can feel them coming- I can try and divert it. Redirect the storm of anxiety but it didn’t always work. My panic always left me drained and weak and empty. It struck me mute raising the volume of my thoughts. 

Until the only way to shut them up is to- 

"Ow." I did it again, without really knowing I had stopped everything with pain. With hot white pain. A pulsing throbbing pain that oftentimes shut my head up. I lift my arm closer to my face, examining it. 

I pull the sleeve over the wet gauze, now sporting splotches of blood. Changing white to red. I couldn't even feel nausea or pain. Or shame. But I was so tired and all that existed was the hot pain in my arm. 

I use my other hand to rub my dried tears. My face was now stained with salt and felt uncomfortable. 

I open my mouth and feel my now tear crusted cheeks stretch unpleasantly. 

Slowly my body began functioning. First my hands and because my brain was probably still asleep, I do what I do. Tugging at my long strands of hair, dark, limp, and greasy. Picking out a piece of lint from my bed- I get the idea. 

I need to cut my hair. It was way too long anyway. Nearly reaching my waist and it was stupidly heavy. How would it feel to have my neck bare? 

_No one will notice anyway._

I take my hair out of its hair tie, after a bit of tugging, and tie it into a tighter more secure ponytail at the top of my head. I take out my big scissors- the ones I've used to cut once before. I washed it and disinfected my wound and the scissors soon after. But I don't really use it- not since then. But these were the only ones big enough to get the job done. Sharp enough too. 

I start cutting. 

Clumps of hair fall around me, a stark contrast against the dusty dirty white floor. Some fell in thin long strips. Some in twisted knots. Others fell in moon-shaped curves. 

What first was tentative snips was now me hacking and cutting higher and higher _and higher._

"I think you're good. If you stop now, you'll have a decent bob." 

On instinct, my hand drops, and my scissors are hidden behind my back. 

Hester.

She looks down at me with predatory interest, smirking, extends her palm towards me. 

I stare at it. My hand had strands of hair stuck to it- I wipe my hands against my sweater. 

What was she doing here? 

It's the first day of school. 

Was she skipping? 

I don’t want to shake her hand. 

Why would she be in _this_ hallway? 

She was part of the student council, right? Wasn't she supposed to be a role model or something? 

This hallway seemed haunted almost- the kind of place she'd hang out. But wouldn't I have seen her? 

I hang around this area a lot myself. All the classrooms were empty, except one. The only one with the lights on- at the end of the hall. Where he insisted he had the most wall space to use. 

He never really asked me for a favor- small stuff. But only because he knew I wanted to do it. I know because he used to ask me to take pictures of the school events I attended. He stopped asking when I stopped bringing a camera to school. 

"Ahem," my eyes land back on Hester "give me your scissors" 

Was she really going to confiscate my scissors? 

Could she even do that? 

"No." 

“Fine” She takes out a stubby pair and settles beside me. Her front facing my side, "Do you mind?" 

I twist so my back is to her and so that she has full access to my hair. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Going to make this look badass." 

"Why?" 

She pauses, "I need a favor." 

Right. A favor- I'm good at those. 

I hear some snips as she cuts the longer strands to match the majority, "What is it?" 

She pops a bubble gum, chewing rhythmically "You don't talk much. I like that." 

I stay silent as more snips are heard. 

"What is it you want?" 

Ignoring me she continues, "Dot is always blabbing or bitching- I swear. Straighten your spine." I do and she continues "It takes a good beating for her to shut up for 5 fucking minutes." 

The Coven. 

Like Mean Girls but more exclusive, much bitchier, and... much cooler. 

Pertained of Anadil, Dot, and of course Hester. 

They adopt a few people they can stand. They have a rivalry with Beatrix. They adopted Ravan for a bit. I don't really keep track of their escapades but I'm pretty sure they are the ones behind dying the Football team’s shorts pink. Which sadly backfired because it was Breast Cancer month and people thought the Football Team was showing support. They even made it on the local network. 

But you didn't need to know her or even know of her to be scared of her. She reeked anger and danger. 

So why was she being nice? 

Pity? 

No. She was an ice-cold bitch, which is noted with all the respect and fear in the world, she wouldn't waste time on pity- 

Oh, right. Duh. She needs a favor. I continue listening to the snipping of her cutting my hair. It was soothing- and with a start I realized that Hester had calmed me from my panic. I wasn't freaking out or near fainting anymore. 

I guess I owed Hester more than I thought. 

I feel her tap my shoulder and hear her move as she gets to her feet. I didn't properly observe her before- but now I understand why she was so frightening. She had the face of someone- who if she chose to could be stunning but she rather be horrifying. Her eyes were lidded and on me as I turned to face her, not standing. She had this look of curiosity- probably because most normal people wouldn't have let Hester Ravenbow have full access to their hair- safety scissors or not. A big tattoo with colors of red white and back dominated her neck and her hair was nearly as greasy as mine. But shoulder length. 

She was frightening, even while holding baby blue safety scissors. 

"You look badass," her teeth flash in a shark-like grin. With a smirk, she turns on her heel and starts to leave. 

Is she going to cash in her favor later? 

She can't do that! I have _anxiety_. 

"Wait!" I say as I touch my hairdo, no gum. 

She slows and stops, back still facing me "What?" 

"You had a favor to ask." 

She snorts, "No, I didn't." 

"You said you did." 

A scoff, her pointy hip cocking out, "Is it so hard to believe that I could do something nice without asking for anything in return?" 

"Maybe, maybe not- I don't know you. But you said you had a favor." 

She levels her glare at me- it wasn't very frightening. I return her stare. 

"Would you have let me help if I didn't have a favor to ask?" 

"No." 

She juts her chin out, "Then there." 

"Why though? You don't know me. What's the point?" 

Hester’s eyes flared and some fear and self-preservation kicked in. I tighten my grip on my scissors. The cold blunt metal prodding into my skin. 

"Fine," she snapped, voice cold "here's my favor- quit cutting your hair during class in a haunted hallway. Sound doable? Good." 

I guess she thinks the hallway is haunted too. It fits the stereotype. Small windows letting greyish light in- minimal lights (why bother turning on the secluded hallways lights?). Lockers all firmly shut. 

Floor needing a good washing. And now there’s a corpse slumped next to a locker- namely me. 

She didn't wait for me to respond before storming away. 

Was she mad at me? 

Should I be worried? 

I don’t feel worried- just tired. 

What a mess. 

I brush the hair into small piles, the sweat of my palms making the hair stick to it. I 

need to clean up- what kind of person chops their hair off on a whim? 

That wasn’t like me- I wasn’t spontaneous. I thought through everything I said or did at least twice before doing anything. So... what possessed me to do that? 

_“What is that?”_

_I look up from my handiwork, “Don’t you see it?”. Raising the ball of clay next to his head I let my laugh loose, “It’s the spitting image of you!”_

_He pouts and my laughter increases tenfold._

_“That looks nothing like me!” He turns to another kid in the library room, where they hold arts and craft nights “Does that look anything like me?”_

_The kid, only a few years older grins at me and nods “Yeah, sorry man.”_

_The head looks nothing like Hort._

_Placing the head back down I extend my clay dirtied fist to the boy, who grins wolfishly before bumping it. He leaves to join his friends and I continue my merciless teasing. Hort was 11 and I, 12._

_Old enough to be part of the teen's arts and crafts night at the Library. A short walk from where we lived. A mile or so. We have been coming here every crafts night and to the town, in general, every day. Vanessa doesn’t care as long as the downstairs is clean before I leave and the upstairs is clean before I go to sleep._

_So, I leave the house at 2 and come back at 6. Hort shares his lunch with me. And on Friday’s I get money from under the couch- a couple of bucks at most- and he asks his dad fr 5 dollars. We both have phones, him- because his cousin Anadil gave him his old one and his dad decided to put it to use. And me, because Vanessa needs to keep in touch with me._

_“What did you make?” I ask Hort, he shows me his drawing “Is that....” I blink up at him “Is that Captain Hook killing Peter Pan?”_

_It was a sketch of two figures, one with a hook in his chest, bleeding out and another laughing crazily, his hand pressed to the slain man's chest. There’s a blur of green and yellow- a cloud, a small puff of cloud and it was raining heavily. Except the cloud has... arms?_

_“That’s Tinkerbell crying over Pan’s death.”_

_I stared at my best friend, fingers tracing over the disfigured shapes “You, my good sir, are_

_Picasso’s reincarnation.”_

_And a little messed up in the head- who roots for the villains?_

_“Eh, hey- my mom packed extra today since her friends had a dinner party. Tonight, Woods, we’ll feast like kings!”_

_“Today, not tonight. It’s only like 1 PM,” I place a hand on my chest “And I’m a Queen.”_

Maybe it was just grief over losing something precious. Or I was momentarily blinded with panic and pain. 

But truly, I think, I think I did that because for a second I was disconnected from everything- I didn’t want to be the same Agatha. I wanted to change something that exact moment. I wanted to do something permanent- something that will still be there later. I was in control of my hair- so I did something with that control. 

Peeling the strands of hair stuck to my palm and dropping it onto the floor I didn’t notice that someone had joined me in the hallway. Until I saw the familiar brown shoes inches away from a clump of hair. 

The janitor must hate me. 

Wait- you can’t hate something that doesn't exist and as far as he can see, I don’t. 

So there. 

But Mr. Ranshal would be very annoyed. Would he get mad at- 

“While your haircut suits you, I'm sure the school would thank you if you refrained from cutting your hair in a deserted hallway.” 

Mr. Sader. 

“Should I do it in a crowded hallway then?” 

I lift my head and meet his focused gaze- it was still weird seeing him see me. The first year of high school (and some of the sophomore year) he was blind, intense of course. But still very much blind. 

He got some dead dude’s eyes. The dead dude has great eyeballs. 

Very strange hazel eyes, like a greyish mix of green and brown and grey. Holding a dustpan and broom he started sweeping up my mess, “No, I’d suggest a forgotten janitor's closet”. 

“Wait,” I scramble to my feet, “I’ll do it”. 

He tuts and sweeps the majority into the dustpan, leaving a considerably smaller mess, “Too slow, besides you should shower. You are wearing your hair like divas wear glitter.” 

“A shower?” I repeat dumbly, “I can’t go home.” 

He walks towards his classroom, obviously expecting me to follow him. I do, rushing to keep up with his leisurely stride. Why must I surround myself with tall men? Wait- never mind. Hort is no longer part of my life. 

“Good thing the school has perfectly good showers for just this occasion.” 

“Seriously?” I walk through the door he held open for me, watching as he dumps my hair into his trash bin. 

“Of course, what did you think the showers near the pool are for?” 

“Very nice,” I allow “but only boys have showers.” 

He looks through his drawers for something, “I assure you, Agatha, the showers are very much empty. The pool is being remodeled.” 

“But-” 

He stops rummaging and looks up at me, “Agatha, I wish you no distress. I just want you to be more comfortable. I know you aren’t in the best of spirits therefore I will make a note excusing you for your skipping this time. Besides” his eyes dip to my hand "you need to clean up.” 

My body goes cold and hot at the same time. 

My eyes moved to my hand and sure enough some blood was trickling onto my palm. 

No. 

Nonononononono. 

Not him. 

“Mr. Sader, this is not-” 

“Please don’t lie to me,” he says sternly, "if you wish not to discuss the wanderings of your mind at the moment- fine. I just want to help however I can.” He clears his throat, “Follow me.” 

Face hot, I follow him rubbing the blood on the top of my hand. It smears orange. I pull down my sleeves lower. 

It was freezing- so why was I sweating? 

Good, focus on this and not the fact that Mr. Sader suspects- 

No. 

The blood was a weird orange color, does it look this color because of the tan of my skin? If I was black would I still have this shade of orange smeared on my skin. Probably not. 

Mr. Sader was always good to me, hosting his History Club and allowing me to serve ‘detention’ in his room while eating some leftover pizza from the most recent staff party. Always reminding me of my potential, what truly puzzled me was that he never seemed to want anything in return. 

Maybe I was his ‘good deed’. 

Maybe I should ask. 

Would that scare him off? 

Probably, it’s not really a good deed if the person knows that there is not true affection involved. 

Maybe I should- 

“Why are you so nice to me?” 

Very smart, genius. Very nice. Subtle.

His face is soft when he speaks “I’m just treating you how you ought to be treated. How people should treat others, with kindness and good intentions.” 

“But that’s not how people work, not truly.” 

He turns back to the cabinets, looking for something still, mumbling something under his breath. 

As he continues his search for whatever it is he needs I take in the classroom; he must have been working on it for a while since it is decorated just the way it was last year. Which was more comforting than I thought it would be. 

Just like last year the large room was covered with maps with sharpie marks of different voyages and spots. Depending on what he was teaching. There were puzzles hung on the wall. Puzzles I helped him put together then glue to the board. In reality I did most of it. And Castor too- he used to help Sader move around and do his teaching duties- now he is a hall monitor more or less. 

My post-it's were even displayed. All of them tacked to this broad board. Some are facts. Quotes. Or life hacks I just picked up on, like if you can’t afford new clothes. Just dye it all black. Or ask your friend for his old sweater. Both works. Tried and tested. 

I read one of the post-it's; Abraham Lincoln created the Secret Service hours before his assassination. 

I pass the post-it's and go back to his desk, instead of finding the globe made of sparkly glass that I was looking for; I found a stack of graded essays, mine at the top. 

A+. 

That essay was a risk. I chose a risky topic with an even more risky source. I still can’t believe I got such a high grade. I studied here, in this room, for three years. Sometimes we talked, sometimes I worked on the puzzle. But more often than I studied, and we talked. 

About politics. 

Humanity. 

Philosophy. 

Netflix. 

In fact, once a month, we would watch Netflix, a documentary of course. If a teacher walked it would look unprofessional and odd to see a teacher and a student watching Gilmore Girls or whatever. But I mean, we watched Pride and Prejudice once. He denies it now but I think he swooned when Mr. Darcy declared his feelings to what’s-her-name. I read the book but I never finished it. I really want to. I just... don’t. 

Already know the ending anyway- if the movie is to be trusted. 

I still want to read it though... 

He eventually gives up his search and just strides to some boxes at the back of the room, plucking spirit wear from the box. 

“What size are you?” He asks, looking at their collars. 

“Medium- but for the tall section. Wait- no Large. Large!” 

He hums, “I’m giving you a shirt that fits but if you like I'll get you a large sweater.” 

That’s fair. 

“Mr. Sader, it’s really not necessary. My clothes are-” 

“Covered in hair?” 

He hands me the bundle of black blue and yellow. 

I smile at the cotton, “Thank you. Why do you have spirit wear in your room?” 

“Why don’t you?” 

“How do you know I don’t?” 

“The way you phrased the question made it seem like you didn’t.” 

“That’s because I don’t.” 

“Why not?” 

A full circle. He is very good at bringing people back on point, “Why would I?” 

He smiles, “Very impressive. I’ll make a philosopher out of you yet.” 

I’ve impressed him- and almost as if it was a physical tangible thing the knot that made it so hard to breathe eased up a bit more. He moves past me, bends, reaches for some black box- oh. Oh. 

He hands it to me, “You don’t want it to get infected.” 

I open my mouth to say something. Anything, but I'm rendered speechless. 

“We will talk about this later” he promises “after you have showered and taken care of your cut.” 

What happened to not having to discuss the inner workings of my mind? 

I salute him, take the keys, medical equipment, and clothes and head out of the room. Maneuvering through desks. And walking out of the haunted hallways and into the 10’th grade area. At some point. 

Mr. Sader had smacked a pass on the bundle of spirit wear so I took my sweet time making it to the pool. 

The hallways still had some students. Some in a rush, others slowly walking- a pass in hands. 

But luckily the hallways where the boy’s locker room door stood were deserted. It took 5 painstakingly anxiety-inducing minutes but eventually, the door jiggled open. Then, because I set my stuff down to work through the keys faster (I really should have asked them which one opened up the swim team’s locker room) I had to kick my stuff inside than spend another cruel minute taking the key from the keyhole, jiggling it like crazy- taking even longer because I kept looking over my shoulder like some idiot. 

The first thing that hit me was the smell, not the stench of molding gym socks but the smell of lemon-scented cleaner. Like it has recently been cleaned. But deeper than the pleasant familiar scent of cleaning products was the smell of sweaty armpits and BO- deeply ingrained in the walls. 

Ew, would the girl’s swim-locker-room stink as much? If they had one- not that the Principal was sexist, she wasn’t. She just- she just doesn’t have the budget for such a big project. My eyes kept darting to the door- did I lock the door? Doesn’t it lock automatically? 

I hurry up my pace. 

Stripping near the benches, I drop my jeans from where they were hanging on my hips and strip off my long sleeve- both of which are now covered in hair. When I pulled my long-sleeve up over my hair I almost laughed at how easy it was. No resistance from my long hair. My neck was prickly, sensitive to the cold it was now exposed to. 

Grabbing the towel and underwear I head for the shower area- it was just the floor and a bunch of showerheads. No barrier? No curtain? Nada? Weren’t they embarrassed? I suppose they wouldn’t be, they all probably had the same identical Ken body builds.

I walk lightly across the cool tile floor, looking for the least nasty spot. Most of it looked trustworthy but I didn’t like germs. A couple of years back one of Horts’ cousins got foot fungi for showering at the community pool showers, without sandals- but he has been going to the pool... daily. 

I-I will be f-fine. 

Pe-perfectly fine.

Should I wear my socks just in case? 

No- I hate wearing shoes without socks. And my shoes are new- so getting it wet and stinky would be...bad. The janitor probably cleans the floor too- I’m just imagining this. My anxiety is tricking me into- what was that squishy thing beneath my foot?!!?

Oh, just a piece of paper. A receipt. Cool. It looked lean and dry, clearly, the janitor must have dropped it while he was cleaning. Yes. That’s probably it- what if the janitor comes back for it and walks in on my showering he or she would be horrified. I would be mortified. 

I-I am fine.

E-everything is fine.

I set my bundle of towel and underwear ways away then head back to the stall flat in the middle. So then I can hear if someone comes in and I won’t be completely exposed if someone does show up. I reach forward and twist the knob, it’s really old fashioned. Not at all like the one at my … the one back home.

Nothing.

I readjust my grip and twist in the opposite direction.

Nothing.

Do I have to pull?

I do and water splutters from the showerhead, I back away instantly. Almost slipping in my hasty retreat. The water warms up quickly. I twist the knob back in the opposite direction. Cold water roars from the old showerhead, bouncing from the floor onto my body. A shiver runs up my spine. 

If I didn’t know better, I’d think ice was shooting out of the showerhead.

Brilliant. 

The water slid down my back and calves and chest. Cooling my flushed face like tears, wetting my hair flat against my forehead and neck. Some water got into my wide eyes, still alert for intruders- my gaze landed on a shampoo bottle. I ran my fingers through my hair, it was wet- yes. But it was still dirty. 

It would be nice to be clean. 

Am I really going to use a stranger boy’s shampoo?

Yes, yes I am.

Mint is gender-neutral, right?

Does it really matter? 

No one will actually notice. Vanessa might- but Vanessa doesn’t see me in any mood but perpetual sadness. 

The water is still beating harshly at my back, I lean down for the shampoo. It was heavy. Not used all that much. I squeeze a bit into my palm, just a coin amount. It felt expensive. The overpowering scent of mint already assaulting my nostrils. It smelled… good. 

I squeezed a bit more of the pale green shampoo onto my hand and scrubbed it into my scalp and hair. It was easier to wash now that it was short. I needed less shampoo too, that will cut down on my expenses- I was done after the one serving. 

I used the bubbles to scrub my body. It said it was both body and hair, so I lathered it on my body too. And because I rarely felt clean I stepped out of the shower and more or less moisturized it into my skin before scrubbing it off. I rubbed it so deeply into my flesh, it might have commingled with my blood. 

Then I wash my hair again because it felt good, I haven’t felt this good in a while. I have forgotten what it felt like to be clean, the easiness in how you moved, your joints, the softness of skin, the clarity of your mind. The lightness on your bones, my vision felt sharper and the weights on my chest lighter. 

The janitors will probably know that I’ve been here- or at least that someone has. 

The least I can do is pick the hair out of the drain.

**...**

Blue wasn’t my color.

...Ugly doesn’t have a color, stupid-

Why did our school have to have such vile colors?

Royal blue and gold?

Puh-leaze.

I slip into my clothes as quickly as possible. The shirt ended at my hips, barely. And my sweatpants needed some altering ( tightening at the waistband).

Black sweats with a stupid lion outline on it. The sweater was a dark blue, the school name- Camelot High, in bold yellow (gold?)

I tie it around my waist and focus on my arm- I really had to wrap this up quickly. The shower should have cleaned it up enough. But either way, I drop some of the liquid - hydrogen peroxide- on the cut. It burns a bit, bubbling white but eventually it ebbs away and I wrap it up swiftly, almost mechanically.

It scares me how much of this is routine. 

I drop the old gauze in the trash, crumpling some paper towels over it. I slip into the sweater, it doesn’t go past my hips like my hoodies. And I hate that there’s no zipper but- I’m grateful for the change of clothes nonetheless. 

There’s a spark of discomfort on my forearm and as I fix the sleeve- I fix it. As I do I can’t remember why I did this to myself.

All I can think to explain is that... it made... so much... sense. 

E-everything was so intense, so loud, so all-consuming. And the hot slice of pulsing pain silences it. It’s nauseating. 

But surely… I could have done something else?

So… why, didn’t I?

There was a time- 8th grade, I don’t remember much- when I cut because it brought me closer to death. I... I cut because… I don’t want to die but I also didn’t want to go back to my demons, my tormentors. Then, I slept because sleep was beautiful. Dark and silent and safe.

But then…

In 9th grade- everyone who once hurt me forgot my existence. But like a bad habit, I couldn’t get rid of the cutting. 

It wasn’t self-destructive- it kept me from self-destructing...

I don’t want to die… anymore.

There was a time where the idea of … death sounded ever-so-sweet. Oh god, my stomach protested and I dry gagged, but no vomit- it had nothing for me to give up.

_“Callis- if I died, what would you do?”_

_She lifts an eyebrow from behind the coffee pot, “I’d find out the reason.”_

_“And then?”_

_Moving to sit next to me, she runs a finger down my braid “I’d avenge you. You, my love, deserve the world.”_

_Then why did it feel like the world was against me?_

Depression, I knew, was self-diagnosed (in most cases). I figured out I had it sometime in 8th grade. I knew that my mind was rallied against my body. I knew that truly I wasn’t alone, I knew that I wasn’t the only victim of bullying in my school. 

I-I knew that.

I knew that my head was being a shit.

But, when I was at my worst. Lonely and rejected, hopeless- all I could think was;

_I wish I would die._

Of course, I don’t think that anymore. Not really. I’m not reckless or suicidal. My survival instinct still acts up to keep me alive. But that’s just it- alive. Not dying. I want to live, to do something. To have a purpose- a reason.

I’ve studied every single book, every single fairy tale. I couldn't find a single one in where they defeated the witch- the villain, because they could. He always had a reason- the prince was always in love with the princess or he was sworn to a prophecy.

All of those protagonists were fighting for a cause bigger than themselves- and here I couldn't even fight for myself. I needed something.

A reason.

Shivering, wearing a wet bath towel over my clothes like a cape, I found myself wishing that I wasn’t cold.

**...**

I was wringing my hair, deep in thought- my haircut was jagged, an inch past my chin. The outer layers were longer than the ones closest to my neck- instead of cutting it even it looks like Hester tried her hand at layers. It looks stupid. But it was still wet, so whatever. 

What if… I dye my hair? Black hair was hard to dye with kool-aid, so I'll have to find actual hair-dye and even then… Eh, I’ll figure it out. Callis would help me.

I guess I was so caught up in these thoughts that I didn’t notice the door swing open and someone stride in. I… only noticed when I heard a shriek. Naturally, I thought it was a girl- the shriek, after all, was extremely high-pitched. Maybe...maybe, I was so caught in my thoughts that I didn’t get the chance for my body to betray me. 

I was thinking about what color I should dye my hair- whichever is the cheapest.

And whether or not a female adolescent with depression should think about her depression so often. 

Anyway, I was so out of it I couldn’t muster up my brain to work hence why I didn’t freak out when Tedros Freaking Pentragon shows up. 

Which just, like, figures, you go 5 years without having to interact with the guy and now here I am, seeing him twice a day.

He was staring at me with wide eyes- I met his gaze through the mirror. 

All I could say was, “Can I help you?”

Wasn’t he… wasn’t he supposed to be Mr. Charming? Did he only remain courteous in front of an audience? I should have known. 

“What are you doing here?” he blurted, his ears were a glowing red and he looked mortified. 

“Showering,” I work to keep my breathing steady “what are _you_ doing here?”

“I-I’m the boy,” he spluttered “and this is the _boys_ locker room”.

“But the locker room is closed, pool is being renovated”

He shakes his head like a wet dog would his body, with exaggerated vigor “I know that. I’m on the swim team.”

I go back to drying my hair, “Then why are you here?”

“I’m the boy,” he points out.

“So what? You are still not allowed.”

Tugging at my collar I stare at the fog at the corners of the mirror. It really was humid here- for the better or else people would have icicles dripping off their hair. But still… oh shit. Tedros was taking a freaking seat. Was I not dry enough for him? Did I have to ignore him?

Do I have to be even more obvious?

“I was given express permission,” I point at the key on the bench then cross my arms because pointing was such an awkward thing to do. “What’s your excuse?”

“The door was unlocked.”

Fuck my life.

The one fucking time I don’t cave to my anxiety- tremors shook my body and I crosssed my arms tighter. Stupid fucking anxiety. It just had to kick in now. I was expecting it, I was surprised I made it this far- does expecting your anxiety decrease the validity? Make me some attention whore? Make me fake? Did I only inflict these symptoms in myself? For some cool person narrative? 

Does… does having the ability to monitor your symptoms make them less real? 

I-I really need to stop analyzing myself.

Focus on my hair, I told my sorry excuse for a brain, see it’s short now… so much easier to dry…

“T-that’s my bad. B-but that doesn’t explain what you are doing here- you know the locker room is off limits.”

He laughs like I said something funny- what did I say? I honestly forgot. Can he just leave? I… I have things to do.

“I left my shampoo here.”

Shit.

ShitshitshitshitshithortshitshitShitshitshitshitshithortshitshitShitshitshitshitshithortshitshitShitshitshitshitshithortshitshitShitshitshitshitshithortshitshitShitshitshitshitshithortshitshitShitshitshitshitshithortshit

“Oh.”

Before my panic, I admit I felt a petty rush of pleasure. Don't know why- just at the idea of taking something from him for a change. I dunno…

It’s silly.

But it’s how I felt.

“Did you use my…”

Right. Back to panicking…. Does he want me to pay him? Thank him? Right now he clearly wants me to finish his sentence. Make it easy or something. 

Idiot.

Fucking dumbass idiot.

“What?” I ask in the blank idiotic way that suggests I’m high off my ass (at least according to the teacher- what’s her name- which is fair since I’ve been guilty of going to class high several times)

God, I think I forgot how much I can’t stand him.

Why am I still here?

I can just leave, I don’t need to wait for- ah, yes, I need to lock up 

My gaze flickers back up to my reflection- fucking dammit- my neck was sporting a bright ass rash and my body was trembling like some...ugh. I look around the room, still facing the mirror-

Should I just sit on the toilet seat? Wait it out till he leaves? But then... it would be obvious I was avoiding him.

Which I was, sort of. I just… didn’t want to see him.

Something tells me, however, that this boy was dense and would probably wait me out.

I watch his back as he retreats into the showers to get his fucking shampoo/body wash hybrid thing- ugh.

So freaking typical.

Why did I even bother asking?

Of course, he just entered whatever room he wanted.

Of course he found himself deserving of answers.

Of fucking course, he didn’t even consider I wanted him gone. Him? Fuck no. He was the golden boy, the hero of the story- I was the salty ass-bitter as fuck bitch, the villain.

I definitely looked the part… speaking of which, my eyes finally took me in.

Big bulging eyes, sunken cheeks, eyebags almost as dark as my eyes, thin lips that disappeared when I smiled, straight snub nose, spiky hair. My skin was so translucent my veins were blue and bright. And the bruises under my eyes- yes, definitely a villain. 

I poke at an eyebag- yes, it hurts.

Would ice heal them? I poke at the one on my left this time, grimacing, my eyes meet Tedros’. He must recognize the distaste in my features because he softens his voice (and god I hate when people do that) and says “I didn’t mean to sound accusatory.”

What do I say to that?

I opt for staring. 

“I was just… I dunno, it doesn't matter whether you did or not. I really don’t mind.”

Again… what do I say to that?

‘Thank you’?

‘Sorry’?

‘I hate your guts but you have nice shampoo/body gel’?

Even with a mirror acting as the barrier his gaze still unnerved me. Averting my eyes I pulled the towel back higher on my collar, it was getting wet, and continued drying my hair. Section by section.

You would think that was a hint enough but instead of leaving.. he just watched me as I dried my hair with attentive eyes. Was he even blinking? What a creep. 

I snapped, 30 seconds in “Do you want an apology?”

My eyes have returned to my sweater logo but I hear him stutter- obviously no one has been blunt with this boy before. 

Is his life as easy as it seems?

Were his main stressors really just existing and being handsome?

Being followed by girls? Assisting charity galas?

That bitch has got it made.

Or maybe I was just being too harsh- Callis says I do that a lot. To subconsciously protect myself from rejection. She says that she read online that people with anxiety are more judgemental because they are trying to protect themselves. To not let people in.

Well… I think that’s just plain false.

They do it because it makes life easier.

After all, having anxiety is constantly being in a state of panic even in the absence of crisis- fear breeds anger, does it not?. Anger breeds judgement. And judgement… it makes you feel safe. Doesn’t it feel better when someone glares at you and you brush it off as someone being asocial or having a ‘bitch face’? Isn't it better to avoid certain people because you think they are assholes?

Heh, here I go again. Seems like all I think about these days is my dresession, anxiety or sad excuse for a life. But still- back to the topic,

And when/if you are proven wrong it’s a pleasant surprise? And if you're right? You're relieved since you dodged a fucking bullet. 

But if you let your judgement fester- like I did with Tedros- it is possible you read things wrong. Obviously. And I obviously know that Tedor isn't a villain. He is a hero. Just not mine.

Him not being evil doesn't make me like him any more. I still hate him. So very much. Besides… it’s not like I act on my hate.

I don’t.

“I don't want an apology,” Tedros finally manages to say without stuttering “I just, is there a reason you don’t want to be my tutor?”

Yes, obviously.

“No.”

“Why do I feel like you are lying?”

Because I am.

I cross the room and start to fold my old clothes, he was now only a few benches away, I pack my stuff. He is still sitting, watching me. I sit and start drying my feet. To ensure I don’t wet my feet again I dry them one by one- making sure to put on my sock and a shoe as soon as I dry a single foot.

“Ew.”

Ew?

“Ew?” I glare up at him.

His ears are red again- he seems like the type to sweat easily. He probably hates it in here- very humid. He clears his throat “It’s just weird when you put on a sock then a shoe instead of putting on both socks then both shoes.”

Right, weird and different is disgusting. I was disgusting too then? By that logic. 

“I don't want to get my feel wet.”

God, just kill me already. 

“Why not?”

Is that even a valid question?

My eyes slide up and he seems to become more nervous under my (hopefully) hard gaze, “Why not what?”

If I were to act on my hatred I’d gouge his eyes out with my pencil and then kick him while he’s bending over in pain but since I’m raised to be polite I say, “I lead a busy schedule.”

“Oh,” the golden retriever perks “Really? Me too. Do you have a job?”

Not really.

“Yes, I do.”

He lights up like a kid on Christmas- oh god, I think I encouraged the idiot, “Cool! Is it a restaurant?

“A coffee shop.”

More or less.

His brows furrow, “I’ve never seen you at Merlin's Books.”

Because Merlin’s Books isn’t the only coffee place in this pathetically small town. 

“I work at Gavaldon.”

He looks confused, “Never heard of it.”

Say ‘too bad’ my brain hisses. 

My mouth moves on it’s own accord, “You don’t strike me as a coffee person.”

He grins brightly, (or maybe it’s the flash of the locker room lights reflecting back into my eyes) “I’m not. Hot Chocolate. Coffee is too… liquidy.”

“I heard Merlins good,” I offer, good job Agatha. Polite. Polite, all my stuff is folded and packed. Ooh, my planner. Gotta get that and make my exit, it was on the bench between us, an arm's reach away-

“It’s great! So… besides work...what keeps you busy?”

I falter, and sit on the bench, sans planner “I have responsibilities at home and a place to be after.”

I’m busy, so leave me be. No is no is no.

“Cryptic.”

That startled a laugh out of me, “Yeah, well, I don’t make a habit of spilling my personal life to strangers.”

Shit- I said that out loud. It was rude, wasn’t it? His face was frozen for a second but...now he was laughing. 

“I-I know,” he wheezed “I-I just wanted to see if there’s anything I could do to help you help me. Dovey thinks very highly of you- and I really want you to be my tutor.”

I’m busy.

I’m exhausted.

I feel like a guitar string that has been plucked with a knife one too many times. 

Can’t anyone see that? Can't anyone see how sick and tired I was of living for others?

Does he have his head so far up his ass that he can’t see that I. don’t. like. him?

Can’t he just use daddy’s wallet to buy himself another loser?

What is _wrong_ with him?

What- what do I do? What can I even say?

His words were meant to be sweet- so why did it feel like someone injected ice water in my veins?

I watch, frozen in horror as he leans forward and plucks my planner- he cracks it open and starts scanning. I jot down everything on that shit! Everything. Every single appointment- psychiatrist included. My eyes burned and so did my neck. I bite my nails into my palm but the shaking didn't stop. My heart felt like it was beating it’s way out of my chest.

Anxiety aside, there was fury. The only thing keeping me from turning into a shuttering gasping mess because… how dare he?

Who-how-what is _wrong_ with him?

“Oh look,” he grins obnoxiously into my planner, “you are free during dinner on Wednesday. If you like we can meet then- I’ll pay for dinner of course.” His eyes keep wandering and his smile falters as he narrows his eyes to read- **_no_ **.

I swipe it harshly from him and shove it into my bag, “By me being busy I didn't mean I didn't have a single second to spare.- I meant that I didn’t have the energy. A-and grab my stuff like that again and I’ll chop off both of your grubby hands.” I suck in a deep breath “Now,” stop shaking stupid body “get out. Get out. I have to lock up and I’m not getting in trouble for your being here. 

I didn't dare look at him.

But I didn’t stop pleading with him- I was practically sending thought bullets at him. He had to at least get my anger- no one was that dense.

He did, thank whatever divine being that hates me for showing me this small mercy, now I can fall apart in peace. When he stepped closer I feared he’d try to stay here. But he must've thought better of it because in a matter of seconds I was blissfully alone once more. 

I gulp down desperate breaths in an attempt to satisfy my body’s tightened lungs. I touched my brow- wet with sweat. He fucking ruined my shower. 

Maybe he _was_ a villain.

**…**

Serendipity is the idea that fate and chance worked together to bring the desired result. A delicate chain of events happening for a bigger more meaningful moment. A sweet outcome.

If you call being hungover and glared at in a 24/7 coffee shop a ‘sweet outcome’ then yes, today, my first day of Senior year was indeed an example of serendipity. 

After Tedros had left, I cleaned up everything. It was tempting to try and dry the shower floor- I even started before deciding it would be smarter to just evacuate the place. Then-

“What were you _thinking_? Agatha? Are you even listening to me?”

Doesn’t staring at a wall bring a comfortable fuzziness? In where nothing hurts? It’s like being frozen right before a big yawn. Still, I tear my eyes from the wall and face Callis. 

_I’m sorry._

How did I even get here?

She glares at me sharply- shit, did I say that out loud?

“Some… blond girl dropped you off. Honestly, I can’t remember. I think my new medicine was starting to kick in- it is always a little fuzzy when I get a new prescription-”

“Sophie?”

She scrunches her face to the side, giving it thought, knowing how much her answer means to me, “Don't think so, but maybe? She was wearing a lot of makeup. Tall too.”

So _not_ Sophie.

Thank you to the man upstairs.

Studying Callis a stab of guilt and self-loathing hits, red-rimmed eyes, sunken cheekbones. I stopped- I stopped everything, the partying, the smoking, the drugs, everything (besides one thing) so she wouldn't worry. So she wouldn’t look like _this_.

She bends down to sniff me, I stay stone still.

“Have you been smoking too?”

“No?”

I don’t know?! I don’t think so- it doesn't feel like it. I would know- It was hell but I gave up smoking 2 years ago. Cold turkey and a lot of spearmint gum. I haven't had one since but… anything can happen when I’m drunk and I don’t remember shit and- and-

“Your good,” Callis sighs, kissing the top of my head “you smell good- like mint. And you chopped your hair off but I think it was a good drunk move. Risky as hell but-”

“No,” I correct, taking a break to chug the coffee in front of me. “I did that at school.” 

“Oh,” she blinks then says “in that case you should have waited for me. I know how to cut hair, y’know.”

The bell rings and someone comes in-the nose and abrupt wind spikes my steady headache. Crossing my arms on the table and burying my face into the borders, I try to sleep. But the thudding in my head is too loud and my stomach is messed up the way it always is after a night of drinking.

The customer chats away with Callis in between bites of bacon and scrambled eggs. Callis comments occasionally, she walks around the counter and to me, leaving a plate of buttered toast in front of me to settle my stomach. 

And low enough for only me to hear, she whispers “I thought we were past this.”

Me too… I thought I was doing good too.

**...**

**[Earlier, after shower at School]**

I stare at him a bit longer- just in case he wasn't sure of how shocked I was. But he was sure- and he hasn’t budged. 

“What?”

“Please,” he persists, “consider it. No one would know besides the other girls and they are just as in inclined to keep their depression a secret as you-”

Mr. Sader has done a lot for me over the years, putting up with my moods, feeding me, being there for me, now even clothing me- but “No.”

Just...no. 

I drop the keys and towel at his desk “No fucking way.” 

“Language,” he scolds without any actual heat.

It just doesn’t make sense, he always had a sort of clue about my mental health…so why now? It really would be just like him to be planning this for years- but why would he waste all that effort on me? Maybe because of what he discovered earlier...

“I don’t get it,” I snap “why would I?” He opens his mouth to answer when I cut him “Who are the girls?” 

His asian face face was just as serene and Dr. Strange like as before, “Come to the meeting and find out- just one.”

Actually, he looks a lot like Doctor Strange. Same high cheekbones, pale skin, set of mouth and chin, only the eyes are different. Green instead of blue. And not a hint of facial hair.

“Agatha,” his firm voice snapped me out of my analysis “consider it.”

Alright, there. Considered.

And I decided to not go.

“I’ll think about it,” I lie, already backing away. 

I don’t go to him for lunch- opting to wander the halls. His hall pass from before in hand- I know that if someone were to call Mr. Sader for confirmation he’d back me up. But he didn’t have to since no one stopped me. 

Well, a cheerleader did- she liked my school spirit. She invited me to a party. Think her name was Kiko or something. I only remember because she reminded me of the type of chick you’d see in a manga- busty, short and innocent looking. 

Maybe this was the tipping point- the intro to my serendipity- but no… I think the beginning of my decline was Hort. Because if Hort hadn’t become a hunk he wouldn't have been adopted into the monarchy of high school. Then I wouldn’t be depressed (fat chance) and wandering the hallways like some lame-ass ghost. Then I wouldn’t have cut my hair and made a mess of myself. I wouldn’t have come across Mr. Sader who would find out about my cutting and force me into a shower then try to convince me to join some help group. Then I wouldn’t be avoiding him and I’d be with him for lunch- not getting invited to a rich kid party. 

I wasn’t going to go, obviously. Those days were in the past. At least, I wasn’t _planning_ to. But the house was clean, Vanessa was on a ‘retreat’. No homework on the first day of school...and… I really needed to do something. Some people-watching. I just changed from sweats into leggings. The house party was in the neighborhood. So close- surely that was a sign. Maybe, maybe it’ll have dinner. I could eat, maybe. 

It was at a girl named Yara’s place (I knew her when she was a him, Tristan- nice if not a little too eager to follow the crowd but whatever). Her parents were gone a lot so she hosts a bunch of parties. Her parents, I happen to know, had an excellent wine cabinet- _not_ that I was planning to get wasted. I wasn’t. Just to… I dunno. To people-watch was my reason but… I could have done that anywhere. 

Really, I’m not sure what I was thinking. 

But- then after a blur of pushing around, dodging people and finding a quiet corner… I wake up on a couch surrounded by bottles and cans and empty cans. A few jackets draped over me and under my head. And I couldn’t muster up the will to stand let alone try to think about anything. 

Yes, I was drunk.

A girl- blonde, her features...I’m not sure. But I would’ve known if she was Sophie. Right? She was beautiful...and tall, I remember leaning comfortably into her side. I must’ve been sobering up around then since I distinctly remember feeling cold (and complaining) and tired and heavy as we stumbled around outside. I remember asking for the girl's name, I don’t remember how she reacted or responded to anything. 

I don’t remember anything past that. 

And now… here I was. 

Drop dead exhausted, sporting a headache that felt like it had the power of splitting my skull. 

I lift my head and meet wide eyes- (she had sat down in front of me a minute or so ago) the thing with Callis is that I was never sure if she’d start screaming or sobbing. She always looked the same before either, with wide dark eyes. She was bipolar, it wasn’t very serious (she says she was allowed to own a 24 hour cafe after all)- but I bet it was exhausting enough on its own. Feeling the highs and lows of mania and depression. She was on medication- but she grows used to it easily. So her prescription changes as much as her mood it seems. She never complains.

She had so much to deal with.

She really didn’t need this too. 

“I’m sorry, Callis”, her back was to me still, as she watched the customer walk out of sight. When they're gone, she faces me, holding a mirror outstretched to me. It takes a lot of self control to not flinch away. I focus my gaze on Callis before averting my eyes to the mirror- I was selfish. Didn't want to meet her eyes.

The mirror looked cheap. The type with the handle, I study the border- very plain. Plastic, probably. 

“Look at it,” Callus orders calmly.

“I am.”

I hear a scoff-like laugh, “Okay, now your reflection.”

Slowly, I shake my head.

“Agatha, this isn’t a choice.”

I face it, making eye contact with my reflection. I was hideous. Never claimed to be a beauty but the red-ringed eyelids and hair plastered to my sweaty brow took any allusion I might have had about being average. My cheeks looked like it was being sucked by a vacuum in my throat and there was an immovable scowl on my lips, I tried to smile but it stretched my skin oddly and it was exhausting to try. There was a grey-blue pallor to my skin that reminded me of the undead, which didn’t do anything for my eye bags. 

“I’m sorry,” I apologize. Lowering my eyes to my hands, long finger big knuckled and jointy. 

Clearly, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear since she turned away, my eyes followed her. Follow her hunched forward figure as she steps away from me. I never realized how she was actually smaller than me. 

Was she walking away? Calling it quits? Panic squeezes my chest and I stagger forward and out of my seat, “I'm sorry.” I wheeze “I’m sorry Callis. P-please don’t be mad.”

Tripping almost twice but I make it from my seat to where Callis stood.

“I’m sorry,” my fingers search hers.

The first sorry was for everything- now I just didn’t want her to leave. To leave me. Not her-

“Relax kiddo,” she strokes my head “I’m just getting some Advil. I-I’m not mad.”

Sobs fill the air- for a second I panic because I thought Callis was the one crying but- no, it was me. Goddamit, I wipe at my face but I can’t stop. I crumple to the floor. She crumples with me, cradling my long sharp awkward body to hers, as she whispers words that I couldn’t hear over my own breathing but calmed me nonetheless. 

When I calmed I felt the big well of embarrassment but before I could spring away I made eye-contact with her. Her face wasn’t blank, it was clearly written (Callis learned that hiding her emotions upset me more than anything)- a book meant for me to read. Openly she was stating that she was worried for me, sad that I was hurting, scared for me. And I wrack my head to figure out what to say to make it better. To make her proud. 

I found myself saying “T-there's a group,” I searched her face “a group of girls with depression, like me. Mr. Sader invited me.”

“Are you going?”

“Y-yes.”

Her face clears a bit, hope shining and a radiant smile appears “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ciao!! stay safe! wish me luck :D

**Author's Note:**

> I solemnly swear i'll make this as accurate as possible.
> 
> Bye and stay safe!


End file.
